Bound
by CecilTheSnake
Summary: Modern Highschool Au, Simon is trans and he gets pregnant, shit happens, idk just read it. Some OCs but they aren't shipped with anyone and don't interfere with the plot.
"You're gay? Right?" I questioned the boy looming over me. "Yeah I am. Your point?"

"You know I'm not really-", Roger cut me off, "Yeah, I know and I don't care. Do you want to go to this stupid dance with me or not?" Clearly a bit embarrassed. Inexperienced in romantic endeavours. Regardless I stood up a bit straighter at his pointed, impatient, tone "Y-yeah. Uh. Yes. Yes I'll go." I felt my face heating up with a blush as I stuttered. "Okay. Just tell blondie someone else is picking you up."

How did he know Ralph was taking me? Why was he interested in me like this all of a sudden? "Um. O-okay.." I scolded myself silently for stuttering again. He smirked and pressed his lips to my temple, immediately after he turned and left, leaving me feeling sick. Were those butterflies, or me reacting to the smell of tar and menthol on his breath? Either way it didn't matter, I was going on a date with him. It wasn't a bad thing, I knew I felt something for him. But whether it was returned at the time was a mystery. It still is. Roger was terrible at emotions, anywhere beyond feeling them. Regardless, Roger Evans asked me to our sophomore dance. And it was one of the first times I felt wanted.

•••

A memory flashed through my head as I bounced my leg in anxiety. I blinked a few times and felt a burning in my spine. I sat up straighter trying to crack my ever sore back, looking scornfully down at the sandbags I called breasts. It was a cruel joke is what it was. My fat distribution was fine, but any excess just seemed to go straight to my chest. They'd been more sore than usual over the last 3 weeks, my nipples were more often than not, hard, and my areoles had gotten darker. If that were possible. What I'd've given to have been rid of them. I poked one and watched it sway below my ribs for a moment before settling. I must've been a sight to see. My eyes were probably still red and my face tear streaked. My hair was sticking in all directions and I was sporting a black South Park t-shirt, displaying Cartman in shades and a badge, pointing, squealing 'Respect mah authoritah'. All washed over in blue. Aesthetic. Around my ankles were plain grey boxer shorts, Hanes, nothing spectacular, probably a blood stain somewhere, a frayed elastic. That ghetto, idgaf aesthetic. Except for I did 'gaf'. I had one sock on. It was the kind that had an animal face on the toe, and the animal butt on the heel. It was a frog. Wearing shades. A twinkle in he glasses lens. A snazzy frog indeed. What a mature, strapping young lad I was shaping up to be.

I inhaled hard through my nose to clear it of mucus, then looked up to see the timer I had set for 10 minutes now at 3:49. That made me feel sick. The time had flown too quick. Imposing knowledge and truth was encroaching on me. I felt sick. I heard music. Soft cello. My vision darkened and I knew I was about to have a seizure. My therapist taught me a way to snap out of this. I relayed facts. Truth. Trying to calm my nerves with solid facts to stop focusing on the unknown. That way I felt secure in my surroundings. 'My name is Simon. I am 17. I am going to be 18. I have epilepsy and general anxiety disorder. My mother is from New Delhi, India. My father is from Rome, Italy. But he has Hawaiian, and French blood. My mom is 100% Indian, born and bred. I can speak English, French, Italian, and Hindi. Roger Evans is my boyfriend of just over 2 years. He is Korean, Israeli, and English. However he has a more asian appearance, like me. He is pale with Jet black hair, and I am brown skinned with dark brown hair. I have a little sister named Sage. I was born in Pondicherry, India. When I was 3 I moved to Florence, Italy so my father, mother, and I, could live with my wealthier Nona and Nono. They passed away when I was 5 and 8 respectively. Now we live in London, England. I attended a catholic boarding school in Italy, and up until year 9 (grade 8), in London.'

My thoughts slowed and I began to breathe normally. I hadn't realized I was hyperventilating. I jumped a little at the alarm chiming on my phone. The chemical process was finished. Now all I had to do was look. I turned it off and thought to myself. 'It's not too late to turn back. I don't need to know. Is it that important? …Yes. Why did this happen? How could you have been so stupid to let this happen?' On top of my already present anxiety, there was all this pounding at my subconscious, soundlessly deafening me. I felt the world around me slow and saw my vision tunnel as I reached for the white plastic stick on the corner of the counter of my bathroom sink.

How could such a simple instrument hold my entire future? I don't know. It just did. That pregnancy test could change everything. It could ruin everything. Just as things were going my way, one stupid mistake could ruin it all. My name was finally legally Simon, I had a boyfriend whom I loved, I had some of the best friends you could ask for, I had the sweetest little sister anyone could ask for, I had a wonderful family, my dance class was at the peak of performance ability, and Jack's band was finally gaining traction. I didn't want to ruin that for Roger. All that, robbed from me. Because of one night. I shook my head and snatched it, only glancing at it for a second before dropping it against my will with a pathetic noise. My breathing quickened and I grabbed the box desperately, whispering no, over and over to nobody. Everybody. Anybody. 'No. No god, please no. It has to be wrong.' It wasn't wrong. Two blue bars in that tiny window indicated a pregnancy, and that's what I saw. Two tiny blue bars. Such an incredibly simple marking, but it held so much importance.

I quickly disposed of my evidence, wrapping it all in bathroom tissue like a used pad. I stood, yanked up my boxers and sat. Only to realize I needed to pee again. I promptly answered natures call, and resumed my previous position. I think at that point I was in shock. I didn't fully understand it. It was surreal. I needed to let it soak in.

I should have been happy. God what I would have given to feel overwhelming joy at that no. Two key factors prevented that elation. 1. I wasn't finished high school. I was finishing my first semester of year 13 (Senior/ grade 12). And I'd hoped to go to Paris after to study botany. Maybe become a florist. Take Roger and live with him in Italy. It would have been perfect.

2\. The rants and offhanded comments from Roger encompassing his hatred for children. That he never wanted children. If I stayed with him I wouldn't be having kids. He said they annoyed him. I think he was scared to become his father. I knew that wouldn't happen. He never let him hit Maurice or their older sister Caroline. He constantly took those beatings. Regardless, he stood firmly that he wasn't having kids.

But all that suddenly all meant nothing. Right then, at that moment, he had a child. Inside of me. Maybe more. Dear god what if it was twins?! Or triplets?!No. No, no. That wouldn't happen. Right?I remember staring at my abdomen in horror and amazement. Something living, in me. Myself, being its only life line. Something totally unique and beautiful. Roger and I. In me. It made me feel just a little warmer knowing I carried a piece of him. Even though this meant my life was virtually over, I couldn't help but see beauty and majesty. I always do. I see no reason to look at things negatively. Roger was just the opposite. I hoped I could change him. After a long while, I looked up at the wooden door sealing me from the outside world. 'Just behind there is a hallway, painted blue, another 12 steps forward is a living room, 15 wide strides take you to the front door, then outside. 276 steps northeast and past a strip mall and a grocery store then 32 steps east is another house. And most likely just 26 steps upstairs and down a hall is the father of my unborn baby. Our, unborn baby. He was so far. And yet I felt his eyes burning into me. Staring, like I'd done something horribly wrong. I shook myself irritably before having the sensation of a train hit me. I forced myself not to vomit. I grabbed my stomach and scowled at it. Could I handle 9 months of that? I left that question unanswered. I stood slowly so as not to give myself a head rush. I stared at myself in the mirror, exited the bathroom, then proceeded to get ready for school, but as casually, and inconspicuously as one can when they've just discovered they're pregnant.


End file.
